


I made this for you, a place for you to love me

by gointorosedale



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:41:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gointorosedale/pseuds/gointorosedale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>if this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is.</p><p>A series of Morgana/Gwen drabbles written for femmeslash february. Will probably contain all sorts of things, both AU and not. But mostly fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. my hands no longer an afterthought

**my hands no longer an afterthought**

Morgana is utterly silent when she wakes up from a vision, these days. She can feel the choked breath caught in her throat, but she stays quiet and shudders and sits up without a word. Beside her Gwen is curled up, asleep, blissfully unaware of the fact that tomorrow one of the local merchants' daughters will skip into the forest and slip and crack her skull on a rock. It's not a very grand vision, as far as they go, and easily preventable but like always, it sits like lead in Morgana's stomach. She wants to jump out of bed and run down to the merchants' house, pound on the door until they let her in and let her explain that _please please, you have to keep an eye on her_ but of course she doesn't because then they would ask how she knows. And that, of course, is not a question Morgana can afford to answer.

She considers getting out of bed anyway, maybe going down to the kitchens and making some tea to calm her nerves, but the castle is cold and dark and the idea of leaving bed is very unappealing. Instead, she lowers herself back into bed, curling onto her side and staring at Gwen. It was hard not to be jealous of her, sleeping peacefully and looking content. Her hair gathers at the curve of her throat, resting on one delicate shoulder and Morgana lifts a hand to touch, curling her hand around it to feel the warmth. She drags her palm down, down to Gwen's hands, curling her own hands around them and running her fingers along them.

Gwen stirs, makes a humming noise and opens her eyes. “Can't sleep?” she asks, voice muffled with sleep.

Morgana hums a sound that might be yes or no and closes both her hands around Gwen's, running her fingers along the tendons, sweeping her thumb down to Gwen's wrist.

“Nightmares again?” Gwen asks, raising her other hand to Morgana's face. She cups her jaw and rubs her thumb along Morgana's cheek.

_No_ , Morgana wants to say, _no I don't have nightmares I have visions and I see people die and I have magic and please don't hate me for it and she's so little, Gwen, she's just so little and she'll die tomorrow_.

_Please don't hate me_ , she wants to say. _Not you too._

She doesn't say that. Isn't willing to risk it, even in the dark where she couldn't see the fear grow in Gwen's eyes she isn't willing to risk her finding out because she isn't willing to risk going to bed tomorrow night and finding it empty. Morgana sighs and squeezes Gwen's hand.

“It's all right,” Gwen soothes, quiet and reassuring as she always is. “Just a nightmare.”

Right, Morgana thinks. Just a nightmare.


	2. and then the question behind every question

**and then the question behind every question**

It's honestly an accident. Gwen is technically still working, after all, though her mother used to say a maidservant's work is never done. Gwen had headed down to the kitchens around midnight, planning to tidy up a bit and prepare the place for tomorrow's breakfast. Though technically not her job, she'd promised Sheila she'd take over so Sheila could look after her sick mother. Gwen was happy to help the other servant and had even asked Gaius if he had any advice on herbs that might help. There were plenty of herbs growing in the fields outside town and Gwen was planning to gather some tomorrow and hopefully relieve some of the pain.

Humming to herself, Gwen had made her way into the kitchens. The fire had almost died down and Gwen had been about to start tidying when she saw a figure sitting beside the hearth.

“Excuse me?” she asks, unable to see who it is because they're silhouetted by the light of the fire.

“Gwen?” It's Morgana, huddled on the floor in front of the hearth with a shawl wrapped around her and a cup or something in her hands. “Gwen, what are you doing here?” she asks, straightening up. She's smiling brightly, looking delighted by Gwen's presence, and backlit as she is she looks like something saintly and rare. Gwen feels strangely humbled by the sight.

“I was going to tidy up the kitchens,” Gwen says. “Sheila's mother is sick, you know, so I thought I'd help out by taking over some of her work–“ Gwen cuts off when she sees Morgana has broken into a happy grin. “What's so funny?”

“Just that you're sweet, Gwen. You don't get nearly enough credit for all the ways in which you help out.”

“I'm only helping a friend.”

“Nonetheless. May I help?” She asks it brightly, like she hadn't just been sitting in front of the fire, no doubt staring somberly into the fire and contemplating whatever nightmare struck tonight. She's always been good at that.

“Lady Morgana, it's really nor your job,” Gwen starts but Morgana cuts her off.

“Nonsense. I'm not going to sit around here and watch you while you work, Gwen, not if I can help.” She rises, putting down the cup. She has that look on her face, that expression she has when she's determined to do the right thing and daring you to say otherwise. Gwen has never been able to do anything against that look, nor has anyone else in the castle.

“All right then,” she says.

She starts tidying the kitchen, putting away bowls and plates and gathering the old bread that's left over, planning to give it to the poor tomorrow morning. Morgana helps out, like she said, and they work through it quickly enough.

When the kitchens look neat again, Gwen moves to gather her cloak, planning to go home. Morgana looks at her and there's something in that look that makes Gwen hesitate, hand on her cloak.

“Would you stay with me?” Morgana finally asks. “I couldn't sleep and I got cold, so.” She gestures to the fire and the shawl she's left lying in front of it.

Gwen looks at her for a moment, doubtful. She really shouldn't, her father will worry and she needs sleep, she has to get up early tomorrow. But Morgana looks pleading and unsure at the same time, and it's hard not to fall for that look. Gwen has never liked seeing her lady in distress.

“All right, then,” she says.

Morgana settles on the floor in front of the fire again. It doesn't look very soft or comfortable but it looks warm and the pale skin of Morgana's bare feet is shining in the firelight, looking vulnerable and out of place and Gwen sits down next to her.

Morgana shuffles closer, drawing the shawl around herself again. When Gwen shivers, only partially from the cold, Morgana wraps an arm around her, draping the shawl over Gwen as well. They sit there for a while in the quiet kitchens with Morgana's steady breaths and the flickering from the fire that grows smaller and smaller. Gwen shivers again and curls herself further into Morgana.

“I should really head home,” she says, soft so as not to disturb the peaceful silence too much.

“Stay for a while longer?” Morgana asks, equally quiet, curling her hand around the back of Gwen's head and pulling her closer, tucking her face into the side of Morgana's neck. She presses her lips to Gwen's temple.

Gwen's never been able to deny her lady anything.

“All right,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for femslash february, for the prompt 'date night'


	3. thanks for calling it the blue sky

Gwen lets herself fall sideways onto her bed, breating in deeply. As she shifts to roll over, she hears a clinking sound and just _knows_ the mug she that was lying beside her bed has broken Damn it.

It has been a terrible day.

Gwen wishes she was one of those people who simply got angry and tossed some things around and slammed some doors and then relaxed. She's not and there's never been space for that in her household, between taking care of her overworked father, her dying-of-leukemia mother and her always-in-trouble little brother. If Gwen were the kind of person to get mad like that, she'd probably never have gotten anything done. Still, it's a shame now because the thought of tossing her door sounds really, _really_ good.

With a sigh, Gwen sits back up. Outside, rain is clattering down and the whole campus looks dreary in the fog. And indeed, the mug she'd put next to her bed last night when she'd been to sleepy to put it back has broken. And judging from the stains, some leftover tea has gotten on her textbooks.

Fantastic.

Gwen is sitting on her bed, staring at her book slowly absorbing the tea when the door opens. Gwen doesn't look up, knowing it's Morgana, who will no doubt be endlessly cheerful and enthousiastic about some new class or other, and Gwen is so not in the mood for that. Or for anything, really.

"Gwen, the funniest thing happened--" Morgana pauses, almost visibly deflates and sits down next to Gwen. "Oh. Did you have a bad day?"

Gwen doesn't say anything, just stares at her feet. She's wearing holey socks but it's Friday and she had a test first thing in the morning and she was already late so she had no time to be picky.

Morgana nods and jumps up from the bed. Gwen is rather jealous of her eternal good mood. She only ever gets upset when she has nightmares and during the daytime, nothing fazes Morgana Pendragon.

Morgana comes back a few seconds later with a paper bag. "I bought this for you on the way home," she says, smile a bit dimmer than it usually is but still there all the same.  
 "It should still be warm, I think."

She hands it to Gwen, who takes it and finally looks up at Morgana. "Thanks," Gwen says. She takes the paper bag and opens it and can't quite help smiling when she sees Morgana got her a brownie. The rush of fondness she feels for Morgana lifts some of the bad mood.

Morgana kneels next to her on the bed, looking hesitant. Then she leans over and kisses Gwen on the cheek and, after a few seconds of simply breathing against Gwen's cheek, Gwen turns and kisses her properly. She can feel Morgana smiling into it and it's infectious, so much that when they pull apart Gwen giggles a bit.

Gwen looks at Morgana, still kneeling next to her on the ugly rubber-duck yellow bedspread with a bright smile, and reaches for her brownie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt 'bad day'


	4. when dark clouds gather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in some AU world where Morgana has taken over Camelot and Arthur is running from her. Might do more ficlets in this AU.

Morgana is a storm when she's angry.

There's nothing else to say about it, really, once you've seen her like that. She whirls through the castle, all dark curls and dark dirty dress and even darker eyes. She's silent, for all her anger, racing quietly through the corridors like some kind of predator. Most of the servants back away the moment they see her, fury evident. No one wants to stand in the way of an angry Morgana. She doesn't generally harm people but the power radiates off her like this and even Gwen, for all that she isn't magic, can feel the _danger_ and the ozone in the air.

Arthur and his group of rebels had, apparently, attacked a convoy of witches on their way to the castle. They'd been looking for protection from the witch hunters and Morgana had offered them a place at her city, which they'd greedily accepted. Three women and two children, twins, had all died in the attack. They received word of it this morning, when Morgana's soldiers came galloping in, looking somber. A whole group had instantly been sent to gather the bodies so they might receive an honorable burial. 

Morgana had gone quiet and pale when she heard it, breathing in with a steady rhythm that told everyone in the castle she was one step away from exploding. 

Now, Morgana is pacing through the corridors, eyes flashing like lightning on stormy nights. Gwen hurries after her, knows she's headed to the western tower. Morgana likes to stand there and watch the sky at dawn and sometimes they stand there together, quiet and contemplative, watching the soldiers return from their patrol or studying the villagers as they go about their business. The view from the western tower is always beautiful and peaceful and Morgana's made it a habit of coming up there when she's angry. There's no one there who can be harmed by her magic.

Gwen holds onto her skirts, hurrying up the last steps. She'd be more hesitant about bothering Morgana when she's angry if she weren't so worried, but she is. She knows Morgana gets outrageously angry when Arthur and his men kill her people, but it's always worse when there are children. Watching their small, delicate bird-bone bodies being carried in on a cart makes her nauseous, and only serves as a reminder of the child she wanted most to make it. Mordred.

At the top of the tower, Morgana is standing in front of the parapets, staring straight ahead. 

"Morgana?"

"Gwen."

"Morgana," Gwen starts and she searches for something to say, something to make it better, some _at least they won't suffer_ or _it's not your fau_ _lt_ or _you'll get him eventually_ but none of that would change the fact that three women and two children are dead and countless more will die unless they somehow stop Arthur. Gwen sighs and lays a hand on Morgana's shoulder.

"Gwen," Morgana says, looking at the hand on her shoulder. She puts her own hand over it, entwines their fingers. "I want, I need it to stop. I need Arthur to stop," she says, tone caught between desperately pleading and desperately angry. "I need them to be safe," Morgana says with a nod towards the people wandering around the town below. "I need magical people to have a safe place, Gwen, somewhere they can trust they will be protected." _Somewhere I can protect them_ , she doesn't say, but Gwen hears it all the same.

Gwen doesn't say _you'll do it_ or promise to help out however she can, because five people have died and it won't make a damn bit of difference what Gwen says so instead she stands next to Morgana, hands still entwined, and watches stormclouds gather in the west.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt 'storm'


	5. sunlight pouring across your skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a future!AU of the AU verse in my last ficlet? I don't even know.

Morgana remembers the moment she decided she'd be with Gwen forever. She'd been fourteen and it was somewhere midsummer, with a heat wave that rolled through the country and Morgana mostly remembers her hair sticking to the back of her sweaty neck, the little bit of a breeze coming from the open window. She'd only known Gwen for one year and had already decided Gwen was one of the most endlessly wonderful people she'd ever met.

Morgana had been watching Gwen's capable hands as she darned a stocking, the quick movements strangely hypnotic. Gwen was sitting on a sturdy looking stool by the window, early in the morning, long before Morgana was supposed to be awake and clearly Gwen had used the opportunity to get some work done. With the sunlight haloing her soft curls, she looked like an angel.

Morgana had stood in her doorway for a few moments, still in her nightgown, watching Gwen as she hummed to herself and went about her work. She made a mistake in her stitching and started cursing, before catching herself and looking back at the door to Morgana's bedroom. When she saw Morgana in the doorway, she stopped working, flustered.

"Sorry, I, uh," Gwen paused and held up the stocking awkwardly.

Morgana grinned, waving her hand. "It's fine, Gwen."

Gwen had smiled, obviously relieved, and she'd starting getting up to help Morgana but Morgana waved her off, telling her she'd take care of it herself.

Morgana had done just that, pouring her own bath and submerging herself in the cool water and she'd dozed for a bit, thinking of Gwen's smile and her cheer and her comforting steady presence, always there in case something happened. She'd thought of Gwen's loyalty and the way she was always willing to help out no matter the personal costs and decided then and there, legs splashing idly through the water and the sound of Gwen moving around in the other room, that Gwen was someone she needed to have in her life forever.

"Morgana?"

Morgana looks up. It's been years since that summer morning and Gwen hasn't been a servant in years, but she's sitting in front of the window darning her stocking again and the sunlight shines down on her hair, a bit more grey-streaked then it was that day but still beautiful and Morgana smiles.

"What is it, Gwen?" she says as moves to sit down in the windowsill, taking care not to block the sunlight.

"You looked thoughtful, is all," Gwen says, eyes trained on her work. "I thought it might be something interesting?" She looks up and says it with a glint in her eyes like she knows exactly what Morgana was thinking of, and no doubt she does.

"Just that I'm lucky," Morgana says, turning to look out the window. Below people are making their way through her city, children racing through the streets, a man chasing a runaway pig, a woman spelling a pile of logs in to float in front of her as she makes her way home. Quite a life they've built, Morgana thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt 'memories'


	6. will you lie down next to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More modern!au because why not. And I swear, I meant for this to be fluffy and sweet and cute and instead it turned out kind of sad. Oh well.

Gwen is lying on the floor in her sun-filled room, soaking up the first rays of sunlight. She'd gotten out of bed early, showered, did the laundry and the dishes and, when she realized there was no more work to be done today, gathered all her pillows and blankets and piled them in front of the window.

She'd laid down with the intention of reading a book, originally, but the sun felt good on her bare arms and it was only Rogue of the Highlands, a trashy romance novel she'd picked up in the clearance bin a while back, so she wasn't missing out on anything by closing her eyes.

So now Gwen is dozing on the floor, enjoying the fact that she has no place else to be and nothing else to do. Outside, a mother and her child are arguing and the child's high pitched shouting is clearly winning out. It fades after a few seconds.

“Gwen?” Morgana's calls through the door along with the sound of a key in the lock. The door opens. “Gwen?”

Gwen doesn't have to open her eyes to see Morgana's expression, disoriented and slightly amused, so she keeps her eyes shut instead and hums.

“Are you napping on the floor?” Morgana's voice comes from the kitchenette as she pours herself something to drink.

“Yes,” Gwen says.

“And you don't think that's weird?” Morgana is standing next to her now, blocking out the sunlight, nudging her collection of pillows with one bare foot.

Gwen opens her eyes and sits up a bit. “Not really. Elyan and I used to do that all the time, you know. On Saturday mornings, when Dad was off to work, we'd take care of all the housework and just nap for a bit. It was very relaxing. In the winter, too, with the sound of the rain but summer was best.” Gwen smiles fondly at the memory of it, the hours spent talking to her brother or simply listening to the sound of his breath. She's expecting the pang of loss when it comes and lets it tug her back down to the pillows, eyes closed.

Morgana nods, moving to sit down next to her. “What did your dad say?”

Gwen smiles, remembers the times her father would come home from work and find them there, lying in front of the window. “He'd laugh and say at least we weren't breaking down the house. He'd join sometimes, if he could get off work. But we stopped doing it when we got older and busier, and then Elyan went off to college and we forgot.” Gwen is surprised to find the memory doesn't hurt too much anymore, at least not in a way that overrules everything else. She stretches her hands and feels the rays of sunlight on her palms, her wrists, and relaxes. They're gone, but she's okay.

Morgana nods again. She stretches out next to Gwen, shielding her eyes from the sun for a moment. “That sounds nice,” she says quietly.

Gwen nods and drifts off again, feeling peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt 'floor'


	7. something to keep the light from passing through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lack of updates but I've had a terrible week. I'll try to upload another one tonight to make up for it. This is also, again, rather less fluffy than I was going for but whatever. Have some morgwen angst.

Sometimes Morgana dreams about telling Gwen. She dreams about a sunny lakeside afternoon and conjuring a flower out of nowhere to show it to Gwen and Gwen will gasp and look delighted and kiss her and tell Morgana how wonderful she is.

Sometimes, Morgana dreams about telling Gwen. She dreams about midnight conversations under the covers, biting her own lip in hesitation, blurting it out, _Gwen, I have magic, I am magic_ and closing her eyes. In those dreams, Gwen reaches out to cup her face with gentle hands and looks her in the eye and shushes her and says _it's okay_. _I love you regardless._

Morgana dreams about Gwen. Gwen, Gwen, Gwen telling her she'll keep Morgana's secret, telling her she still loves her, will always love her, everything is fine. Telling Morgana she's forgiven, though it's never quite clear what for. Being magical, maybe, or for keeping a secret or maybe even for divulging it. But in those dreams, Gwen forgives her and kisses her and holds her hands between her own, breathes out _I love you_ like benediction and everything is fine.

Sometimes, however, Morgana dreams about telling Gwen and in those dreams Gwen does not kiss her like she's absolving her from all sins past and present and promising there will be no future ones. In those dreams Gwen backs away, fear growing darkly in her eyes. She'll smile painfully, _oh,_ and make up an excuse to leave. Or she'll react instantly, content expression shattering, shouting, _how could you_ and _I knew it_ , all accusation and righteous anger. Morgana wakes from those dreams wretched and nauseous, stomach churning with the memory of Gwen's disgust.

And of course Gwen is always there, every morning, watching her anxiously when she retches into a bucket or looking happy after a good night, _did you sleep well?_ in that kind, kind voice. Those mornings, with Gwen soothing her or brushing her hair carefully or gossiping about the latest affair between the kitchenmaids and stableboys, there, it's impossible to believe something like that could ever happen. To think Gwen would ever look at her with anything other than this blind adoration she has now, it's stupid in daylight.

And those mornings, the words are on the tip of Morgana's tongue. She feels so close to saying it and several times she reaches out, puts a hand on Gwen's shoulder or arm or waist and looks her in the eye and hesitates, so close. Gwen stares back with questioning eyes and behind that always that bright loving look, and Morgana can't do it. Can't bring herself to risk this, these quiet mornings.

Instead, Morgana breathes the words _I love you_ , solemn and soft, the only truth she can give. Gwen's face brightens and she kisses her like forgivenes anyway, and Morgana tells herself this is good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt 'secrets'


	8. if you are pure of heart, or lucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I finished writing this, I realized the timeline was all messed up with Elyan as a knight and all but shhh let's just pretend that's not the case. Enjoy the fluff, anyway.

They're lying in the grass, lazing about. It's late in the afternoon and the trees are casting long end-of-summer shadows while the sky is slowly turning red. Morgana's head is cushioned on Gwen's shoulder and she leans up for a slow lazy kiss. Morgana's weight on her side is a steady, comfortable reminder that is real and alive and hers. When they part, Gwen looks up at the slowly setting sun and says “We should probably get back to the castle.” She doesn't especially want to get up, the warmth making her sleepy and unwilling to move, but they do need to get back. It'll be suspicious if they miss dinner.

Morgana sighs and agrees and they get up, dusting off their skirts and looking each other over. Morgana has a twig in her hair, which Gwen pulls out with a chuckle. Once Gwen has thrown it on the ground, she runs a hand through Morgana's hair to comb it out a bit.

That's when Gwen senses him. There's no sound of rustling leaves, no footsteps or armor clanking together, but Gwen knows he's there anyway because she has a sixth sense when it comes to Elyan. It's not that odd, really, she spent her childhood keeping him out of trouble (or trying to, at least) and if she hadn't been able to simply sense where he was, she'd never have succeeded. Elyan had a way of disappearing when you needed him to do something.

She turns around. “Elyan? I know you're here.”

Elyan appears from behind a grouping of trees. He isn't wearing his armor but is dressed in a simple tunic instead, and it makes him look younger than usual. His usually expressive face looks empty and for a moment Gwen is nervous, knowing there's no way he has misunderstood the situation.

He watches them quietly for a moment. Moves closer. He looks at Morgana, who looks unsure and out of sorts. It's not something that happens often with Morgana, who always has a solution or a plan or something to do, is always so confident.

“So,” Elyan says slowly, “You and my sister.”

Morgana nods, cautious. Her hand reaches for Gwen's, looking for support and affirmation at the same time.

Elyan catches the gesture and grins suddenly, looking like his cheerful, boyish self again and Gwen can feel Morgana relax a bit. “And what are your intentions towards her?” he asks jokingly.

Morgana stares at him for a few seconds, eyebrow raised, clearly a bit baffled. Then her face smooths out and she answers, looking first at Gwen and then at Elyan, “I intend to keep her in the castle with me,” with her haughty I-am-royalty-and-know-better voice, usually reserved for Arthur when he disagrees, “and to keep her there and love her until she decides she wants to leave.” She straightens up, says it with a proud look and a tone that leaves no room for argument. 

Gwen feels like rolling her eyes at this entire conversation, but at the same time she's rather pleased to hear Morgana say those words, and the sudden rush of affection she feels for these two idiots puts a smile on her face.

It makes Elyan laugh, too, which is always good. He throws an arm over Gwen's shoulder, still laughing. “You've gotten lucky, then,” he says to Gwen. “Shall we head back?” he asks, apparently deciding that the subject is closed.

Gwen looks between them, her brother, the only family she has left and Morgana, her lady and her home and her everything else and does indeed feel very lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt 'senses'


	9. that I would name the stars for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly tried doing something valentine's day related and it sort of crashed and burned horrifically. Well, maybe not so bad but it definitely did not work out. So, have some entirely un-valentinesy fluff instead.
> 
> (also slightly sort of somewhat dedicated to my girlfriend because a) she's heartbreakingly amazing and b) I feel like I should do something nice for her on valentine's, even if I don't get to see her today.)

When Morgana proposes they hire a new maidservant, it catches Gwen entirely off guard. She's been working for Morgana for more than ten years and she's never gotten a single complaint and she knows Morgana well enough to know Morgana isn't suddenly sick of her. Still, Gwen can't quite stop the quick, nervous jump her heart makes when Morgana announces it one morning. Gwen is dressing her, lacing up the back of her dress with a practiced ease. It's been years of doing this, but she enjoys it all the same, smoothing a hand over Morgana's bare back before lowering the dress over her. There's something very intimate in dressing someone.

After Morgana's said the words, a silence falls. Gwen swallows hard for a second. “Why would we do that?” she asks, tone as neutral as possible.

“Just, thought it might be nice,” Morgana says, trying to catch Gwen's eye in the mirror. Gwen avoids looking at her, instead focusing on the shiny green ribbon in her hands. Morgana's always looked best in green or blue, very regal and powerful, even if she usually insists on wearing black.

“You know I manage the work just fine, by myself.”

“I know, but I thought maybe you could work less? Spend some time relaxing?”

“I'm fine with the way things are, though.” Gwen keeps her eyes trained on Morgana's back, even though she's all dressed now.

Morgana sighs and turns around. Gwen finds herself suddenly faced with Morgana's collarbones and she considers sullenly refusing to look up, but instead she lifts her gaze to find Morgana watching her tenderly. 

“I've insulted you,” she says, carefully, putting a hand on Gwen's waist.

Gwen pauses, watches Morgana watching her for a few moments. “Not really,” she says.

“Then what?” Of course Morgana, ever clueless about anyone else's feelings, doesn't see anything upsetting about finding a new handmaiden.

“I just don't see why it would be necessary. I've never complained about the work I do, have I?” Gwen can't help sounding a little indignant, but she takes pride in her work, even if she's 'only' a servant.

“No, of course not, but I thought you might want a break. Gwen, it really isn't necessary for you to do so much work,” Morgana says. Gwen can almost hear the unvoiced _you're above that_ and that, that right there is exactly the issue. The work may not always be pleasant, and it may not always be easy or perfect but it is Gwen's and if Morgana implies it's somehow below Gwen, that's an insult.

Gwen takes a deep breath. She doesn't want to get mad at Morgana but sometimes Morgana forgets not everyone can be queen, and that handmaiden is as much an honorable job as queen. It makes sense, for a woman raised as near royalty, but Gwen wishes she wouldn't all the same.

“Morgana, I'm a maidservant. I take pride in that. I don't need to work less simply because I'm also something else to you, and I definitely don't need some new girl taking over. So, if you're asking my opinion as your servant I'm saying whatever you want, my lady but if you're asking my opinion as an equal then no, I'd rather you didn't.”

Morgana nods slowly, clearly digesting the words. “I won't, then,” she says eventually. Gwen knows Morgana probably still doesn't get it, doesn't understand why for Gwen being a handmaiden on top of everything else she is to Morgana is exactly what she wants, but she does understand the fact of it.

Morgana smiles tentatively and she looks so little like a queen in that moment, expression caught between thoroughly chastised, unsure and slightly hopeful. Gwen smiles back gently and knows that, whatever else, at least Morgana loves her enough to trust her. She raises her hand to caress Morgana's cheekbone, brushing away her hair. Morgana's face breaks into a real smile and she presses a kiss to Gwen's hand, soft and gentle, and Gwen delights in the rush of sheer love she feels for this woman. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt 'new'


	10. away from something shameful and half-remembered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit longer than usual, and kind of not finished? I might continue this in the next one, which I will try to post tomorrow. Otherwise vacation starts next week so I'll write some more then anyway.
> 
> But yes, more modern!au. Can never have too much modern!au.

It goes like this: Morgana comes home around seven and bends down to pick up the mail and turns on the answering machine. She's looking at the energy company's logo on the envelope, contemplating whether she'll open it tonight or just ignore all that until the weekend, when she hears Uther's voice.

It doesn't register at first, more like a vague buzzing in the periphery of her senses, and then suddenly it does and he's talking, all _you need to come see me_ and _would like to talk to you_ firm and commanding as ever. She can practically see his expression when he's talking, sour-faced and stern.

Morgana pauses, envelope still in her hand, and waits for the message to end, all the while carefully memorizing Uther's words. Then she goes to the kitchen and puts the kettle on.

Gwen joins her a monent later. Morgana has no idea where she's come from but Gwen's suddenly there, hovering behind her quietly. Together they wait for the water to boil and only when it does and Morgana is pouring the tea does Gwen speak.

“You don't have to go, not if you don't want to.”

Morgana knows this. She knows she's an adult now and she gets to make her own decisions and if she never wants to see her bastard-father, she never has to. If she wants to carry on and ignore him and maybe one day get a notice of his death when he dies of a stress induced heart-attack and toss that in the trash and ignore him some more, she can.

But Morgana thinks about Gwen and her father, their old in-jokes, their obvious love for each other, the way Gwen was teary-eyed for weeks after her fathers funeral and couldn't speak for days. The way Morgana came home, one afternoon, to Gwen and Elyan sitting on the sofa with a photo album and Gwen's trembling hand softly caressing a family photo, her look of adoration when she did so. It wakes something old and hopeful and desperate in Morgana's chest, some childish wish to have that too and she can't just know she has this opportunity and not take it.

Morgana knows, rationally, that it's very unlikely Uther's changed his opinions over the last few years but she needs to at least try to make something out of this family. Morgana's nothing if not determined, after all.

So as Morgana puts the kettle down and stares into her tea, she shakes her head.

“No,” she says quietly. “No, I'm going to go.”

“Then you go,” Gwen says, rubbing soothing circles on Morgana's neck.

Morgana doesn't miss the _you._ But the thought of entering her father's dark and daunting mansion, so full of bad memories and screaming fights, on her own ia terrifying. She grasps Gwen's hand. “Will you, could you come with me?”

“Of course, if you want me to.”

Morgana nods and Gwen turns away, rifling through cupboards and looking for something simple to eat. “What time do we need to be there?”

“Noon.” Morgana can't help but notice how blank and empty she sounds.

“Alright, we'll go to bed early tonight, get up early tomorrow. Make sure to be there in time. We'll take the train.” Gwen sounds thoughtful, like she isn't planning to visit a man who hates her almost as much as he hated her father but is planning her next vacation to some sunny seaside town. It makes Morgana feel stupidly grateful for Gwen's levelheadedness, her endless practicality. Thank god for Guinevere Smith.

–

They get on the train early the next morning. The sun is watery and pale, but it's not too cold and Morgana can sense it'll be spring soon. There's something comforting in that, at least.

The train station is far too busy and Morgana gets irrationally angry, waiting for everyone to get onto the train so she can get in too, huddled in far too close with a man who grumbles about his 'goddamn ex-wife killing me man' as she waits to board. She's never reacted particularly well to stress and the thought of visiting Uther weighs heavy on her mind.

Gwen is a solid presence beside her, all soothing voice and steady calm, and Morgana is grateful for that, too. Nonetheless Gwen is also distracted, Morgana can tell and when they sit down in the train both of them are fidgeting, quiet, casting furtive glances out the window like Uther could show up there any time. Luckily the compartment they're in is mostly empty, save for a dozing old man up ahead who occasionally snores and snuffles out some indecipherable words.

They're apparently so distracted that it takes almost an hour before Gwen suddenly groans and says “We're on the wrong train.”

Morgana startles and looks behind her at the screen displaying their destination and realizes that yes, they are in fact traveling in the opposite direction to where they should be heading.

Panic hits her when she realizes she's going to be late and Uther is going to be angry and then how will they ever reconcile? Uther insists on punctuality from everyone, his employees, his few friends, his children. He'll be endlessly annoyed if they're late. Morgana feels the old panic churn in her stomach, a discomfort that never used to leave, knowing he would be disappointed.

Gwen clearly sees it in the way Morgana tenses up because she's already looking at her watch, saying “We can call Uther, tell him we'll be late. If we get out at the next station it and take the train to his place, it shouldn't be too long. We can tell him something was up with the trains, or something.”

Morgana knows, however, that Uther Pendragon would not care even if the train spontaneously flew away while they were trying to get on and it suddenly hits her.

“No,” Morgana says, and as she says the word she knows this is right. “No, we don't have to. Let's just, fuck Uther, okay? I don't want to go see him.”

Gwen looks at her, first disbelieving and then curious when she sees Morgana is serious.

“Let's just get out on the next stop, look around town maybe, have a nice lunch and enjoy ourselves instead of visiting and old guy who doesn't like us anyway. He'd be mad even if we arrived exactly on time and handed him Buckingham Palace or something, it doesn't matter. Please, Gwen? Let's just forget this whole plan.”

Gwen still looks surprised but something like understanding is slowly blooming across her face and just then the train starts slowing down and Gwen nods and gets up. Morgana smiles gratefully and gets up, following after her. She has no idea where they are but it looks nice, not too large and anonymous but a nice little town. Even the sun feels brighter here, further away from Uther.

When the leave the train station, deciding to head to the nearest café and maybe even sit down and drink their coffee outside now that the sun's come out, Morgana slips her hand into Gwen's. Gwen up looks at her, grin tugging at her lips and it feels a bit like an adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt 'destination unknown'


	11. the sweetness of every second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I'm kind of sick but I've got all week to finish up on this now. I really do want to make the 26 ficlets I planned to do, and while I'm not sure I'll make that I'll hopefully at least make it to the 20. 
> 
> Anyway, yeah, have this. It was originally supposed to be a 50's AU and it just sort of transformed into a modern AU. I don't even know.

Gwen is humming to herself, righting the tower of muffins Elyan made this morning which has been leaning over precariously all day when the chime rings. A customer hurries in, bundled up against the snow. Gwen recognizes her as the same woman she and Elyan have nicknamed 'the witch'. With her long black woolen coat, long black hair and light dusting of snow, she looks like a witch, though she smiles kindly. She comes around the shop every once in a while, usually buying small pastries. She likes anything with green fondant, dark chocolate or ginger, Gwen knows, and Elyan mercilessly teases Gwen in the back room for having a bit of a crush on her.

“Hello,” the woman says, pulling off leather gloves. Her skin underneath those gloves is as white as the snow, white like soft rich whipped cream. Her gloves are expensive, like everything else she wears, but not in a flashy way. More in the way of someone who's simply grown up used to that kind of thing. 

“Hello. What'll it be today?”

“I'm actually hoping you could make something for me,” she says.

“It would depend on what you're looking for. What sort of thing do you want?”

She pauses. “That's the thing. It's a birthday gift for my sister, you see, she's not one for birthdays, far too practical, but I at least want to get her a cake. I'm just not sure what sort of thing she'd like.”

Gwen nods, considering. “I could make something, but if you don't know what she likes there's a chance it'll be very disappointing. If I may ask, what's she like?”

The woman considers, smiling slightly. “She's very severe, I guess. Not one for frivolity or luxury. She's had a hard time.” The smile fades a bit and the woman looks down at her hands for a few seconds. “She always likes the gingerbread cake I buy, too,” the woman adds.

Gwen considers. Not something as lavish as say, black forest cake or angel cake, but something crumbly and serious like spice cake. “I could try, but I can't guarantee she'll like it,” Gwen says.

The woman smiles again, that pleased smile that makes Gwen wonder who else gets to see that. If it's reserved for a husband, maybe the tall, lanky, dark-haired man who comes with her sometimes. Gwen rather doubts it, hopes she might be the only one. It's a stupid thing to hope, of course, but the woman does seem to come here an awful lot and never when Elyan is working the counter. It's unlikely, but Gwen has a right to a few daydreams of her own. 

“I'm sure it'll be perfect,” she says, heartfelt. “You're very good at your job. I trust you to make it perfect.”

Gwen chides herself for the rush of warmth that causes but she can't help smiling back, somehow managing a 'thank you'. They discuss price and when it needs to be finished – December 10th, the woman says, which gives Gwen two weeks to think this through – and Gwen spends the whole time stuck between avoiding eye contact by staring at the hollow of the womans throat and looking her in the eye and bearing through the strange intensity of it.

When they've finished talking, the woman watches her for another moment and Gwen isn't sure what she's looking for but she hopes the woman finds it.

She leaves with a cheery wave, and Gwen can practicality see Elyan grinning smugly in the back room when the door falls shut. To his credit, he keeps his mouth shut while Gwen buries her face in her hands.

–

It's a Friday when the woman comes. The cake is finished, of course. A seemingly unimpressive spice cake, frosted with a thin layer of brown sugar. It's not the grandest thing Gwen's ever created but it seemed like the right thing to make.

When the woman enters the shop, she looks perfect, as always, not a hair out of place despite the heavy snowfall. Gwen is manning the counter again and she's fidgeting with her dusty apron, smoothing it out and trying to rub the flour out it.

“Good morning,” comes the melodic voice of 'the witch'.

Gwen nods, fidgeting with the box holding the cake now, throat feeling tight. She feels like something needs to happen today, but she isn't sure what or how.

“Is that the cake?” the woman asks.

Gwen nods, feeling stupid. “It's spice cake,” she finally says, convincing herself to look the woman in the eye. Her stomach is fluttery and this is stupid but the woman is wearing that pleased smile that makes Gwen melt. Gwen opens the box to show her the cake.

“It looks good,” the woman says. “Looks like something my sister would like. Simple, but good.”

Gwen nods again.

The woman pays and finishes her usual small talk, and looks more and more disappointed as Gwen stays mostly unresponsive.

The woman picks up her box eventually, wrapped in a plastic bag with _Smith Bakery_ emblazoned on the sides. She looks hesitant, like she wants to leave but is waiting for something.

Gwen looks at her for a moment and she looks as nervous as Gwen feels, balanced on the precipice of something grand and important and Gwen makes a split-second decision.

“My name is Gwen,” she says, too quickly really but from the way the woman perks up she can tell it's the right decision. “Gwen Smith, and I'm twenty-seven and I run my father's bakery with my brother and I like reality TV and medieval literature and indie folk music,” she speaks quickly, smiling awkwardly.

The woman grins. “I'm Morgana Pendragon and I'm twenty-four and I work at a homeless shelter with my half-sister and I like Edgar Allan Poe's poetry and chai tea and bad 70's sci-fi movies.” She pauses, grinning broadly, triumphantly. “Do you want to go for coffee, maybe? We could just leave the cake here and I'll pick it up when we come back?”

Gwen looks at the time. She's supposed to take a lunch break in an hour but why run your own place with your baby brother if you can't also order him to take over for a bit. “Sure,” Gwen says, feeling suddenly relieved. “Wait a second, all right?”

She heads into the back room and of course Elyan has heard everything and is watching her fondly, amused. He opens his mouth, no doubt to tease, but Gwen cuts him off. “I'm going out for coffee with Morgana,” she says, feeling giddy when she hears her own words. She takes off the apron, throwing it onto the table.

“Of course,” he says. “You kids have fun,” he says and Gwen considers swatting at him but she has Morgana waiting out in the shop so she just picks up her jacket and leaves.

Out in the shop, Morgana is looking every bit as giddy and nervously happy as Gwen feels, and when she sees Gwen she throws one of those brilliant pleased smiles at her and holds out her hand. Gwen takes it, clasping the small warm hand in her own, and heads out into the snow with Morgana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt 'birthday present'


	12. four dreams in a row where you were burned, about to burn, still on fire

  
  


It's mostly luck. Gwen hadn't actually heard her cell phone ringing but just then the downstairs neighbors – a young couple that had just moved in there and had been fighting ever since – had just finished another shouting match and one of them stormed out, slamming the door in the process. It made Gwen's bed shake and so she wakes to her cell practically buzzing off the nightstand.

She stares at it fuzzily for a moment, then picks it up and looks at the caller ID. Morgana.

The flips it open (yes, Gwen still has one of those flippy phones. It still works so why not?) and answers “Yeah?”

“Gwen,” Morgana breathes and it sounds distressed and tired and shaken and hurting. Gwen feels instantly awake when she hears Morgana like that, hit with sudden adrenaline, but she tries to keep calm.

“Morgana, what's wrong?” Gwen asks, turning over in bed to look at the alarm clock. Three AM.

“Gwen, I'm sorry for calling, I just– needed to know, I had a nightmare.”

Of course, Gwen thinks. Morgana always has nightmares. She swears up and down they come true sometimes. Gwen isn't too sure about that, but she'll take anything serious if it distresses Morgana this much. Gwen can hear her panicked breaths on the other end of the call, the rustling of fabric where Morgana is no doubt fidgeting.

“It's alright, Morgana, I'm fine,” Gwen says, forcing her voice calm. She curls up a little against the cold coming in from the open window. Outside it's completely quiet now the fighting has stopped.

“I– It's just, Gwen, your downstairs neighbors – number 33 – they fight, don't they?”

Gwen hums in agreement. It doesn't entirely surprise her that Morgana knows this, even if she's not too sure about any sort of spiritual stuff. Being with Morgana makes it impossible not to at least consider the possibility. Magic is something that is so real to Morgana, so much a part of her everyday life.

“I dreamt, one of them, he had a gun and you went down there to see if everything was okay but he had a gun and–” Here she makes a distressed, quiet sort of choked wail, like a junkyard dogs last sound before it collapses and Gwen feels something terrible and hot clench in her chest.

“It's alright, I didn't go down there, I'm fine,” Gwen says, desperate to calm Morgana down.

She can hear Morgana swallow loudly on the other end. “I know, I'm sorry for waking you, I'm so sorry. Sometimes I just,” she takes a deep breath and Gwen can almost see her shaking her head to clear it. “I'm sorry, anyway. I got scared. I hope you don't have to get up too early tomorrow?”

“It's fine,” Gwen says for what feels like the dozenth time this conversation, “I start at two tomorrow anyway. Or, well, today. Anyway, I did say to always call if you felt you needed to.” Gwen sits up in bed, pulling her blankets close around her. “I know how much those nightmares upset you. I wouldn't let you go through that alone, you know that.”

She can hear Morgana sigh in relief. “Even at three in the morning?” she asks, clearly trying to lift the mood now the worst of her panic has faded. Her voice sounds thready and delicate, but better.

“Anytime,” Gwen promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt 'phone call'


	13. tell me about the dream

  
  


“We should get that one,” Morgana says, pointing at a small round wooden table. It doesn't look especially interesting, but Gwen likes simple things so she doesn't mind.

“Why that one, specifically?” she asks anyway, sensing that Morgana has some ulterior motive or she wouldn't be so sure.

“It reminds me of something.”

“What?” Gwen asks, looking intently at the table. It doesn't look like it could remind you of much, plain, small, light wood. It's an ordinary breakfast table.

Morgana shrugs. “You'll think it's weird.”

Gwen looks up at Morgana, who's watching the table with a small smile.

“I always think you're weird.”

It has the intended effect. Morgana chuckles and looks up at her. “I dreamed about it,” she says.

“Oh. What happened in the dream?”

“Nothing. We were just having breakfast at the table.” She looks wistful. “Of course, we did put a tablecloth on it. Yellow roses, of all things.” Gwen is amused by the distaste Morgana says it with, like they've personally offended her. Gwen is rather fond of yellow roses. They look cheerful.

“Why was it so special, then?”

“It was just nice,” Morgana says. “We had breakfast together. We looked happy.”

She thinks about telling Morgana they don't need a table from her dream to look happy, but it doesn't matter. The table is fine and if it makes Morgana feel safe to have the table she saw in a dream, that's fine.

“We'll take it,” Gwen says. “With the tablecloth with yellow roses, of course.”

Morgana looks mildly disgusted for a moment but when she laughs, she only sounds pleased. “I would expect nothing less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt 'breakfast'


	14. words all spelling out desire

  
  


What happens is this: Morgana and Gwen have just had dinner. It was rather an important dinner, too, with the king of a neighboring kingdom worried over _so many damn witches near my borders_ like they were going to spontaneously attack him. Morgana had calmly reassured him that they were planning no such thing and she simply wanted to provide a safe haven for magical people.

The man had narrowed his eyes, looking at the magical guards and the pitcher of wine floating over to Morgana's glass, and obviously did not trust them at all. It got on Morgana's nerves more and more, throughout the evening, the way the man was stubbornly refusing to see the good in magical folk and it quickly became clear this wasn't going to be solved with one dinner.

And on top of all that, Gwen was wearing her red dress. _The_ red dress she wore for special occasions, visits from particularly important people or ceremonies and such. _The_ dress, a deep burgundy like mulled wine on a cold winter's night or spilled blood in shadowy alleys. _The_ dress, with its plunging neckline and crushed velvet and gold brocade along the collar. Morgana spends half the dinner forcing her eyes away from Gwen's bare shoulders, the careful slope of neck to shoulder. She wants to at least pretend to be paying attention, though Gwen does most of the talking for her.

It should probably somehow annoy Morgana that Gwen, who is technically not queen (though she has no official position anyway and most people are only half joking when they call her Queen Gwen, the People's Queen) absolutely outshines her but with the way Gwen looks it's hard to be anything but eager to get out of here.

So when the dinner is over and they've done all their polite smiles and promises and nodding along and they've declared a toast to 'good future relations' between their kingdoms, Morgana and Gwen hurry back to their rooms. Gwen even giggles as they head up the stairs and takes a moment for a quick kiss on the stairwell.

As soon as the door to their rooms closes, they are kissing, Gwen pressed into the nearest wall. She makes the most perfect sounds, breathy little gasps as she runs her hands down Morgana's back. Morgana starts hoisting up Gwen's heavy skirts, eager to run her hands over the soft skin of her thighs, curl her fingers over the curve of her arse while Gwen starts mouthing at her throat.

There's a sudden _thunk_ noise to the left that breaks them apart, mostly on instinct as Morgana is feeling rather dazed still as she turns around.

It's Gwaine. Of course, of all people, Gwaine, dusting off his shirt. He's grinning like a loon too, though there's something something tender and fond in his eyes. Morgana can feel herself getting red and a quick glance at Gwen shows she is smoothing out her skirts, carefully ignoring Gwaine.

“I'm sorry for the interruption,” he says smoothly, looking smug and pleased and oh god this is years' worth of ammunition “but I tripped into the door.”

Morgana has half a mind to call him a liar and say he came in deliberately, but knowing Gwaine he probably did trip. Idiot.

She opens her mouth to say something, but finds she doesn't know what. A pleading look in Gwen's direction doesn't seem to help. Gwen looks just as hopelessly lost.

“Ehm,” Gwen says after a few seconds. “I,” she looks around, biting her lip. “Well, if you've nothing important to say, maybe you should leave?” she sounds suddenly confident if quiet and still rather mortified.

Gwaine, meanwhile, still looks unbearably amused, clearly waiting for this to play out. Morgana clears her throat and gestures at the door. “Yes, well, you should. Leave.” That last word is apparently enough of an order that he decides to oblige. and with a playful salute, he opens the door and leaves.

When the door falls shut, Morgana looks at it for a moment. Looks at Gwen. Back at the door. Clears her throat again, rubbing at her neck.

“Well, that was awkward. Locks, let's _lock_ the door first from now on.”

Outside _someone_ bursts into loud laugter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt 'awkward'


	15. my applejack, my silent night

It's late in the evening when Gwen wakes up. They're squished together on the couch, which was a terrible idea as Gwen can feel an ache start up in her neck. Morgana is still asleep, face pressed into Gwen's neck, smelling like chai tea and smoke.

Gwen nudges Morgana's shoulder, but Morgana only makes a snuffly sort of noise and burrows further into Gwen. Now that she's paying attention, it is rather chilly. Gwen rubs Morgana's shoulder slowly, contemplating getting up. She probably should but the thought of getting up is unwelcome right now. She'd rather bask in Morgana's warmth curled up on top of her than get up.

Gwen thinks back to earlier in the afternoon as she closes her eyes, and smiles. It'd been a good night. They'd both been feeling dreary, lately, for no particular reason except that they've both been busy and this afternoon Gwen had decided they should go out.

It was a good call. She's had a nice time, going shopping together and then out for dinner and then going to the pub but now Gwen feels bone-weary and she wants nothing more than to roll over and find herself in bed. With blankets, Gwen thinks as she shudders.

“Morgana,” she whispers, prodding at her again.

“Hmmm.”

“We should get to bed.”

Morgana nods sleepily, opening bleary green eyes. Gwen feels an unexpected wave of tenderness at the sight, her soft warm skin, her unfocused eyes. She looks delicate and gentle in a way she usually doesn't, with the moonlight falling across her face. She looks like a witch, maybe, with her dark hair in tangles but not a bad witch. More the kind of quiet witch who lives out in the forest and goes for midnight walks among the swamps. Who would save dying animals and gives free pain remedies to old women.

“Come on,” Gwen says as she pushes herself up, though she doubts Morgana hears her.

They stumble into the bedroom together, leaning on each other, Gwen petting Morgana's hair occasionally. They've barely collapsed on the bed or Morgana's already asleep again, chest rising and falling with her breaths.

Gwen smiles, toeing her shoes off. Morgana can deal with wearing hers, Gwen thinks as she pulls the blankets up around them. Hopefully the shoes aren't too dirty.

Gwen opens her eyes for a moment, watching Morgana curl up onto her side. It's a cold night, and there's a draft coming in from the kitchen window that carries in the smell of rain, promise of a storm. Gwen can't be bothered to close the window and they're on the fifth floor anyway, so she shuffles closer to Morgana's warmth and lets her eyes drift closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt 'evening'


End file.
